


just let me drown

by Ryah_Ignis



Series: Season 14 Codas [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 14x09 Coda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryah_Ignis/pseuds/Ryah_Ignis
Summary: "Michael steps forward, cups his cheek. “Don’t you see, Dean?  Have you learned?”14x09 Coda.  Dean is trapped inside his own head again, but he's not drowning.  Not this time.





	just let me drown

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for what seems like MCD.

Dean jolts into awareness.

His head is splitting; for a moment, his vision is fuzzy and colorless.  Then, it returns, like putting on the reading glasses he teases Sam for and claims he doesn’t need.  He tries to lift his head, but someone puts a hand on his chest, pushes him back down.

It takes his tongue a few seconds to remember how to form words.

“Cas—what?  Where?”

Cas smiles.  It’s a soft, gummy thing that never fails to put a warmth in Dean’s chest.  He’s seen more of it in the past week, what with Jack’s resurrection and the path to capture Michael—

“Michael!  Where is he?”

Finally, Dean’s surroundings snap into place.  They’re in the back of the Impala, the car rumbling reassuringly beneath them.  Dean blinks a few more times to clear the last of the spots from his vision.  From the drivers’ seat, Sam turns his head to smile at him.  Beside him, riding shotgun, Jack offers him two thumbs up.

“You don’t remember?” Cas asks.

Dean strains his memory, but all that comes is the image of Michael, his new vessel framed by Kansas City.  Why Kansas City, anyway?  Surely there are better places to take over the world.

“Last thing was Michael beating the crap out of us.”

Sam laughs. “Well, yeah, there was quite a bit of that.”

Dean finally registers that his head is in Cas’s lap.  Weird.  But if Cas isn’t going to question it, Dean won’t either.

“You stabbed Michael with the spear,” Cas explains. “But it—I don’t know—exploded when you did.”

“We thought you were dead!” Jack pipes up.

There’s so much earnest worry in his eyes.  Dean shoots a reassuring smile his way.  He’s a little queasy, but it’s nothing a cup of ginger ale won’t fix.  He certainly doesn’t feel like he’s dying.

“I’ve been trying to heal you.”

Dean sits up, and his head clears.  Cas awkwardly shifts out of the way so they can sit side by side in the back of the car.

Dean’s hand slides into his jacket.

He withdraws an angel blade.

“Dean?” Cas asks, eyeing the blade.

Sam must hear the urgency in his voice, because he turns around again.  His eyes widen, and the Impala jerks to the side.

“Dean!”

Dean watches, horrified, as the blade moves toward Jack.  Jack slides backwards, but Sam isn’t fast enough in pulling over.  Dean lunges, his body not listening to his frantic commands.

By the time the car jerks to a halt, the blade is hilt deep in Jack’s chest, and Jack’s terrified eyes are glassy.

* * *

 

“Sweetheart, can you open the oven for me?”

Dean finishes sprinkling salt over the green beans as he reaches behind him to pull the oven open.  Mom shoves the ham in without any preamble, nearly snagging her oven mitt as she closes the door again.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Dean asks, eying the kitchen. “Christmas dinner for the family?”

It looks like Christmas dinner has thrown up all over it.  Mom pushes her hair back out of her face.  Is the end of it singed?

“Obvious?” she asks. “Your dad and I didn’t have any family left by the time we had the house.  And it wasn’t like you were ever all that picky about your Christmas ham.”

Dean wishes, more than anything, that he was able to remember the Christmases he spent with her.  But when the ham catches fire, he thinks twice.

“Um.  Mom?”

“No!” she shouts, hurling the oven open just as Dean tries to tell her that she needs to avoid adding extra oxygen to the fire. 

She grabs at the fire extinguisher nearby—thank God that Donna has followed the letter of the law even in her hunting cabin—and starts to spray the ham down.

“Good thing we’ve got a lot of appetizers,” Dean observes as the fire dies down.

Mom breaks into a grin as she steps back. “Yeah.  I never was much good at the whole domestic thing.”

Two years ago, Dean would have been crushed by the realization that his mother was never the person he remembered for all those years.  But now, he just smiles.  She’s not the person he thought he knew, but she’s Mary Winchester, and that’s enough for him.

“Help me with the lattice work?  I think everyone’s going to need something filling for desert with our main course up in smoke.”

Mom rolls out the pie crust uncertainly.  Dean helps her slice the crust into thin strips so that they can place it over the top of the filling.  The cherry pie looks a little crooked, but they made it.

Dean’s throat tightens.

She smiles at him, and it’s like everything is finally falling into place.  Michael is dead, his family is waiting in the living room for dinner, and he and his mother are making a pie.

His hand drifts towards the chopping knife on the counter.  Mom turns and sets about checking over the cheese and crackers they’re going to bring out in a few minutes.  Dean’s hand tightens on the handle.

“No.  Mom.   Mom, run!”

Mom turns, her smile fading as it falls to the blade. “Dean—?”

“Run!”

But before she can, he slashes at her throat, fighting with all his might to keep his hand away.

* * *

“Heads up, Sam!”

Dean tosses a box Sam’s way when he’s halfway down the spiral staircase into the bunker.  It’s only his brother’s very quick reflexes that stop it from crashing into his head.  Sam looks down at it with a grin.

“Wrap this yourself?”

He’s undoubtedly looking at the sloppy tape job.  In Dean’s defense, though, the tape keeps getting stuck to his fingers.  Sam’s lucky that he got a wrapped gift at all.

“I’ve got something for you, too.”

Dean drops himself into the chair across from Sam.  His brother pulls a small card out of his back pocket and slides it across the table.  Dean’s face lights up as he picks it up.

“Membership to that brewery in Smith Center?”

Sam nods. “Once you’ve sampled five beers, you get one on the house.  Thought you might enjoy.”

Dean nods at Sam’s gift.  It takes Sam five tries to get past the tape and actually open up the present, cursing quietly under his breath the whole way.

“Dude, where did you find this?”

Sam pulls the book out of the wrapping.  It’s a history of Lebanon, Kansas.  Dean taps on the cover with one finger.

“I think it might just mention some very strange people living here.  Including one Henry Winchester.”

To Dean’s surprise, Sam jumps to his feet and pulls him into a hug.  Dean’s hand slides back toward the gun in his waistband.  There’s a cold realization settling in the back of his mind.

This has _happened before._

“Sam—” he manages to choke out, right before the gun goes off.

* * *

“Grab the other end, yeah?”

Dean manages to wrestle the last of the string of lights out of the box.  When Cas gets a hand on the other end, the string lights up. 

He bursts out laughing at the surprised look on Cas’s face.

“I guess all the bulbs work,” Dean says cheerfully.

It’s not even the strangest thing he’s seen this week.  Of course Cas would be able to light up a string just by touching it.

“I still can’t believe you managed to get a tree in here,” Cas says as they begin to wrap.

Dean grins. “I had to drop it.  It wouldn’t go around the spiral staircase.  Good thing it didn’t lose too many needles.”

They keep wrapping, conversation flowing easily between them.  Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content in his entire life.  This is what home is like.  It’s what happy feels like.

Finally, they decide to break for lunch with only about half of the ornaments Dean bought at the Wal-Mart in Smith Center on the tree. 

“Dean,” Cas says, right before they enter the kitchen.

He grabs at Dean’s arm and points upward.  Dean’s breath catches in his throat.  Is this Sam’s idea of a practical joke?

“I didn’t think you’d decorated quite this far yet.”

The mistletoe sparkles slightly as it spins above them.  It’s more of an ornament than actual mistletoe, but Dean’s not about to complain.  He’ll take all the excuses he can get at this point.

“Cas—” he starts.

“I know what mistletoe means, Dean.”

He leans forward.  Their lips are a hair’s breadth apart when Dean feels the cold press of metal against his palm.

Again.

He throws himself backwards, wheeling back with everything that he has.  But the blade is still in his hands.

“Dean?” Cas asks.

He reaches out, fingers outstretched.

Dean tries not to move, but it’s impossible.

“Please!” he shouts, not sure who’s listening.

Apparently it’s no one, because a second later, there’s a spray of blood on the mistletoe.

* * *

When Dean wakes again, it’s Michael in front of him.  He’s wearing the crisp, beautiful businesswoman from before.  Ten years ago, Dean would have tried to pick her up.  Now, all he sees is something to fear.

“Please,” he rasps out. “Please.  Just let me drown.”

Michael steps forward, cups his cheek. “Don’t you see, Dean?  Have you learned?”

Dean tries to tear free of his grip, but once again, he can’t move.  Panic begins to flood his system, but it’s not enough to break the spell Michael has over him.

“Please,” he says again.

Michael shakes his head. “Dean.  You belong with me.  You belong _to_ me.”

He refuses to believe it.  He can’t.  He’s Dean Winchester.  He’s been fighting Fate since the moment he learned that he had a role to play.  He can’t do this.  Dean lifts his chin, defiant.

"Sam, Cas, and Jack are coming for me.  You're not gonna win."

Michael tuts. “Trusting love, are we Dean?  I don’t think you’ve learned yet.  But don’t worry.  You will.”

He snaps, and the nightmare begins again.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hiatus! I'm hoping to type up a Christmas fic this year, but for now this is gonna have to work :P


End file.
